CHAPTER III

THE CONFESSION

One June morning in the second year of the existence of The St. Ives and Hart Company, Emil entered his wife's room.

In order to be in range of the draught from the window, Annie had pulled forward a couch. Clothed in a shabby wrapper, open at the neck, she was curled up languidly with her head on a cushion. Emil gazed at her while something like compunction blazed up in his eyes. He amazed her by sitting down by her side and drawing her to his breast. Holding her two tiny hands in one of his own, he caressed her hair and even drew a pitying finger over the prominent cords of her poor little throat. Then he strained her to him, sighing as if from a full heart.

Annie burst into tears at this unexpected tenderness. Twisting herself around, she rested her cheek against his.

"You--you leave me to myself all the time, Alexander," she sobbed, "and I've no one at all but you."

"Yes, yes, I know," he responded mournfully.

"And you don't talk to me about your work as you do to Mrs. Hart; and I could understand as well as she if you would take the trouble to explain to me."

"Well, don't cry, little kitten," he said, "I've come to explain something to you now and I hope it will please you."

"How please me?" she asked.

"Well, I have an idea at last which I think will strike your fancy. I mean it's practical," he explained, "--has commercial possibilities."

"Are you sure?" she demanded doubtfully: "you aren't a very good judge, you know."

"Never the less, I can't help knowing that anything in the line of a novel improvement of a musical instrument like the organ,--in fact, an innovation,--in these days is almost certain to succeed."

"Oh, Alexander, tell me! Tell me what you have in mind!" and raising her head from his shoulder she laid hold of his hand.

"What an excitable little creature it is," he said tenderly. "Well, it's a scheme for increasing the capacity for emotional expression in an organ. I shall manage to combine the vibrations of strings with those of pipes by incorporating in the organ a complete piano action. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

He laughed. "A pile you do! I shall combine them in such a way, that by a separate keyboard the strings can be used for piano accompaniment, and also can be coupled with the organ keys so that when they are depressed, the corresponding dampers in the piano are lifted from the strings to admit of their free sympathetic vibration."

"Oh!" said Annie, on a long breath. "And you think it might mean a big thing?"

"In a commercial sense, yes; in fact I think it's about certain to be popular. But in order to carry out the scheme I shall have to have every chance for experimenting, you know," and he looked pleadingly into her face.

"Of course;" she agreed, "but this place suits you, Alexander--you always said that it did?"

"Yes, the place is all right," he answered, hesitating, "but I need an instrument, you see. So I--I've bought one," he added softly.

"Not a pipe organ, Alexander?"

He nodded. "A second-hand one, very small, naturally, only two manuals. But even so, I shall have to pull out one of the partitions before it can be set up."

"How much did it cost?" she cried, and her eyes and her mouth assumed the appearance in her countenance of three little round holes of horror.

"Well, by paying cash for it to the church committee who put it up at auction," he said in a low voice, "I got it for eight hundred dollars."

At these words Annie crossed to the further side of the room and dropping into a chair, leaned her forehead against the wall.

Alexander looked at her with miserable eyes. Her action was a thousand times more disquieting than the volley of reproaches he had expected.

"They've come now, I think," he said after a pause. "They're going to hoist part of it up from the outside, and I hear them on the roof. Don't feel that way about it," he implored. "The scheme really is a good one, Annie, and I'll make a success of it, I promise you. I'll get the eight hundred dollars back and any amount besides."

But Annie continued motionless and he approached her chair. "I suppose it does seem like a lot for us to put into it," he continued with unwonted tenderness, "but it was a tempting bargain and as I couldn't develop my scheme without it-- See here," he interrupted himself, "haven't you told me often enough that I ought to invent something that would prove to be a success; that I ought to do it to justify the Company's belief in me, and especially Mrs. Hart's belief?"

Then Annie turned on him. She even rose from her chair, the back of which she grasped with a shaking hand. "And it's to justify _her_ belief in you, is it? that you spent all that we'd managed to save? Very thoughtful, I am sure. _Her_ interest indeed! I wish you'd never seen her. I hate her, I do, I hate her!"

"Annie!" he exclaimed, for her little visage was twisted out of all semblance to itself.

"I do, I hate her!" she repeated. "As for buying that organ because you needed it, don't you suppose I know you've always hung around organ lofts and even followed hurdy-gurdies on the street? You bought the organ because you wanted it. Alexander, you--you leave me!" she finished hysterically.

Abashed, Emil stared at her; then relieved at this outburst, which was what he had looked for, he went to superintend the installing of his luckless possession. Since concluding the purchase of the organ the wisdom of the step had appeared dubious to his unpractical mind. Now, had it been possible for him to transfer the burden of ownership, he would gladly have transferred it. But the organ, to another, would have been an undesirable acquisition. It was wheezy of tone and sadly out of order, but this very condition was what had recommended it to him, and he looked forward with exultant joy to restoring it to a sense of perfection.

As no retreat was possible, between ruefulness and pride he lifted the blue and gold pipes from the long coffin-shaped box in which they had been packed. Other parts of the organ, being less liable to damage, were hoisted through the window.

When Annie emerged half an hour later, dressed for the street, the passageway and the two workrooms presented a scene of indescribable confusion. Had she glanced in at the door of the larger room, she might have seen the uncouth monster minus the ornamental front it usually turned to an audience. But she looked neither to the right nor the left. Despite the warmth of the day she had a veil tied over her face. The only signs of her distress were the damp blotches in the material over the regions of mouth and eyes. She had decided to carry her story straight to Simon Hart.

When Annie reached the house in Washington Square, Rachel was mounting the steps. Simon had only just returned for luncheon and Rachel conducted the visitor to his study, a cool dark room on the second floor, and then stood by to listen to what the other had to say.

And Annie poured forth her tale. Perched on the extreme edge of a huge armchair, she was too carried away by her trouble to heed the presence of Rachel, and as she finished, Simon, with a look of annoyance, was about to express his sympathy when his wife laid her hand forcibly on his arm.

"And why shouldn't he buy an organ?" she demanded, turning on Annie, and it was evident from the light in her eyes that she was angry. "You are insane to look at the matter as you do. Of course he had to have the organ," she declared. "May not an inventor be allowed the necessary materials for his work? And if the thing should prove a success, as he thinks it may, and as I can see that it may, even from Annie's hazy description, why then you two will be glad enough that he got the organ." And she glanced from one to the other triumphantly.

"But, my dear," her husband interposed, "you heard what Mrs. St. Ives said; the whole point is that they are not in a position to afford it."

"But the Company is," Rachel answered and looked him directly in the eyes. The next instant she was a prey to shame, bitter and scorching.

With a glance of icy disapproval, he turned away from her, and she hurriedly crossed to a window and began nervously to remove the rings from her fingers.

Not a day passed but she thus surprised herself. For the same emotion, ever new, ever unlooked for, ever commencing afresh, constantly tempted her into enthusiastic championship of Emil's cause. Far from wishing to disguise the feeling, however, now that she herself realized the force of it, Rachel had often desired to speak of it to Simon; and only the fact that he definitely and obstinately avoided the subject kept her silent.

As a result of Annie's visit, the complexion of affairs in John Street took a more favourable colour, while those in Washington Square assumed a more tragic hue. Annie, despite her bitter words about Rachel, was not actively jealous of her. Now she was comforted by Simon's sympathy, which she felt; for between these two unhappy souls there was a bond of shy understanding. Also, Rachel's ill-considered words produced a certain lightness in Annie and she concluded that they would not be allowed to suffer because of Emil's extravagance.

Upon Rachel, the result of the interview was otherwise. Seldom had she experienced a more desperate mood than that which assailed her after Annie had quitted the house.

More than once she went to Simon's study determined to speak her mind, but the door remained steadfastly closed against her.

As it was Saturday, Simon did not return to the shop in the afternoon, nor did he emerge from the study at dinner time, and Theresa, with a sly rolling of the eye in her mistress's direction, prepared a tray for him. Simon always expressed his anger by an increase of coldness and silence and by shutting himself up in this way. "He's in there," Rachel reflected, "thinking and drinking." And she preferred the liquor, the effect of which she had often noted, to his thoughts, the effect of which she could not calculate. Until a late hour she heard him walking backward and forward with irregular steps over the echoing floor, and it was after midnight when his door opened and he descended the stairs. This was an old-fashioned house with a cellar and there the wine was kept. It was to the cellar she knew he had gone. Determined to seize the opportunity of speaking to him, she threw a wrapper over her nightdress and hurried after him through the darkened house. He had turned on the light in the hanging electric bulb, and when she came upon him he was standing before a table on which was placed a case of wine. In all probability he had been drinking brandy and was finishing with claret. To her surprise, as if actuated by mere thirsty impatience, she saw him strike off the neck of a bottle. This action in a man of his fastidious habits was big with meaning. He lifted the bottle to his lips, his head flung back. He did not see her until she touched his arm.

"Simon," she cried, "this can't go on!"

Thinking she referred to the liquor, he set down the bottle and regarded her with an abashed and amazed look. His long face, without its usual mask, was fairly pitiful. Later he would not be able to forgive her for surprising him in this way. But she was bent solely on making her confession.

"Simon," she cried, laying hold of the sleeve of his coat, "I was wrong in what I said this afternoon. I own I was wrong; and I ask you to forgive me. But there should be no secrets between us and I have no wish to disguise anything. Simon"--and her eyes, usually serious and a little sulky, flew to his face and clung there brilliant with appeal--"you must know that my feeling for Mr. St. Ives existed before I ever knew you; it is a part of myself. I can't explain it; but it does you no wrong. And never could do you any wrong."

During this explanation Simon had grown paler than was his wont. Pushing aside her hands and standing off from her, he had begun by drawing his fingers nervously through his fringe of hair; but as she proceeded, he became absolutely motionless and his face assumed the lines of a tragic mask.

"I would not have things different even if I could," she went on; "I am content with you and you know it. But oh,"--and she threw, out both hands in a gesture exceedingly simple and genuine,--"please do not misconstrue what you cannot, perhaps, understand!"

But at this point he interrupted her with a violent movement that threw the bottle of wine to the stone floor where the contents spilled in a red flood. "Once and for all," he cried, articulating the words with difficulty, "I want you to know that I will not listen to your analysis. I may deplore your interest in--in St. Ives--I do deplore it, but I do not wish to hear anything of it."

He had put a special accent on the word _interest_ and Rachel once more closely examined his face. Was it possible that he purposely misconstrued the situation and chose to close his eyes to what he believed--or had he understood her? "For it is possible for a woman, as well as a man," she told herself vehemently, "to love two, and to love each differently." Gallant, courageous little heart! Thus did she disguise the truth even from herself.

The wine pouring from the bottle had splashed the bedroom slippers of light felt which she had slipped over her bare feet. Now with a movement, wholly womanly, she bent and tried to remove the spots by rubbing them with her hand, while the loosened mass of her hair, dropping forward, half enveloped her like a veil.

Simon's eyes gleamed, but he instantly averted his gaze.

"What do you mean by coming down here?" he said harshly. "It is too damp for you. Go upstairs."

Rachel lifted herself and made a trembling movement toward him. He tried to ignore her; then seizing her arm, from which the loose sleeve fell back, he pressed his lips to it once and pushed her from him. "Go upstairs;" he repeated in a voice which she scarcely recognized, and as he turned away she saw that tears were forcing themselves from beneath his tightly-closed lids and running down his convulsed face.

His repulse of her had been so violent that the hand which she flung out to save herself was cut against the rough masonry of the wall. In silence she looked at the wound, and an infinite tenderness and pity replaced the stern and mournful expression on her face. Without a word she mounted the stairs.